by Bailey B
I settle onto the couch with a warm cup of coffee. Nona and Logan work together to build another gift Molly received. A few days ago it was her bed. Yesterday Nona put all the stickers on the battery operated Jeep thing. Today, it's a doll house. Our girl was beyond spoiled this year and I am grateful. Never in a million years did I think we could be a functioning family.
I fight a frown. Logan goes back on night shift in a few days and Nona’s leaving after that. We haven’t booked her a flight back yet but I know the day is coming when she’ll say she’s ready to go back. I’m dreading that conversation.
Logan sits back on his heel and holds his hand up to Nona for a high five. “Done.”
Their palms slap together. Nona laughs and crumples the directions into a ball. Those two get along like peas and carrots. I wonder sometimes if Logan ever had a relationship like this, where the maternal figure was a supportive rock. Tessa sure as shit has never been the mother Logan deserved and he never talks about his grandparents. I smile, glad that maybe, for the first time in his life, he sees what a parent should be.
“I bet you’re mother picked this out,” Nona sneers, half joking. “That thing was a monkey to put together.”
Logan slides the house across the floor, so it’s out of the middle of the room, then hands Molly her dolls. Nona scoots forward, teaching Molly how to play house, holding the matriarch doll of the set. I had a dollhouse once. A three story Playmobil that came in a box bigger than me. I sat for hours with that house, pretending the tiny dolls were alive. I kept it for years, until I got pregnant and disappeared to Georgia. Knowing Dad, he probably got in a cleaning spree when his house sold and threw it away.
“Ladies.” Logan climbs onto the couch next to me. I drag my gaze from the girls and focus on his big brown eyes. “I’ve been thinking. Nona, you shouldn’t go back to Georgia. You belong here. With us.”
My jaw falls open. Heart skipping a beat. Logan’s gaze skirts to me for a fraction of a second and he winks. I take his hand in mine, so unbelievably excited that Nona might stay and terrified she’ll reject his offer. A part of me wants to be mad that Logan didn’t discuss this with me first, and we will have a conversation about big decisions being made as a team, but I’m too happy to ruin the moment.
Nona’s gaze bounces from Logan to mine then back to him. She sighs and lifts the corners of her lips into a sad smile. “As nice as that would be, dear, this is your home. Your family is just beginning. There won’t be room for me once you start popping out more youngin’s and I don’t want to be a burden.”
“You’re not.” Logan leans to one side and reaches into his pocket. He unlocks his phone with facial recognition and pulls up a home sales website. He clicks on a house and passes me the phone. “My buddy put his place for sale. It’s only been on the market a few days and already has three offers, but he said if we want it, it’s ours.”
“Logan,” I gasp. The house is beautiful. Seated on under a half an acre, it’s four bedrooms with a fenced in yard, pool and spacious detached office on the back half of the patio. The backyard was designed to where the office and pool deck take up most of the space, but there’s one section in the back, behind what I’m assuming is a bedroom, that has enough grass for a swing set. “It’s beautiful but it’s too much.”
I pass the phone back to Logan, who leans forward and hands it to Nona. She looks at the pictures with interest, but I know her. She won’t show how much she wants to be with us lest plans fall through. She doesn’t want us to feel obligated to anything.
“It’s not that much more than what I paid for this house.” Logan stands and walks to the center of the room. “We’re a family and this is a big decision. One we should make together. Nona, I never got to know my grandparents. My Dad’s parents died before I was born and Mom had a falling out with her mother when I was little. Their issues were never resolved and my grandmother died thinking she hated her. You, Nona, may be spunky, but you’re old.”
“Hey now.” Nona raises one finger at Logan. “I am not that old.”
We all chuckle, except Molly who appears to be in love with her doll house. She’s happily playing, tuning us and this life changing decision out.
“Still, we don’t know how many years you have left. I want Molly to spend as much time with you as she can.” The corner of Logan's lips lift as he looks over at me. “Danika too.”
I wait with baited breath for Nona’s response. I love the idea of us being together. That house, it’s beautiful and everything we need to stay together. Not to mention it’s in a great neighborhood a few blocks from here. The community isn’t gated like this one or where our parents live, but the area is still really nice.
“Fine.” A small smile tugs at Nona’s lips. I can see she’s fighting to contain her excitement but inside, I bet she’s jumping up and down like Molly did on Christmas. “But I ain’t taking a free ride. I want to help.”
Logan takes Nona’s hand and helps lift her off the floor. They hug for a moment and then break apart. Logan holds his arm out to me. I wipe happy tears from my cheeks and scoot off the couch. He wraps his arm around me and beams. “You, being here with Molly and Danika, is all the help we need.”
Epilogue
Logan
Two years later
“Fuuuuuuuuuck!” Danika screams. She squeezes my fingers until the lack of blood flowing turns the tips purple. They tingle in a pins-and-needles kind of way. I let her squeeze as tight as she can while my other hand rubs circles on her back.
“I want it,” Danika cries. “Give me the epidural. I don’t care what I said earlier.”
The doctor looks up from the paper drape over Danika’s knees. She smirks in an, I told you, you’d want it, kind of way but Danika doesn’t notice. Her eyes are shut as she hunches forward and screams again.
Danika insisted on a V-back, which apparently is having a natural birth after a cesarean. Our doctor advised against it, but Danika being the stubborn woman that she insisted and threw into the mix she wanted everything to be natural. I.E. no epidural.
I think she’s regretting that now.
“We’re almost there, Danika,” Doctor Mims says. “Two more big pushes and he’ll be out.”
“Come on, baby. You can do it!” I’m trying to be as helpful as I can but the reality is that, besides being a cheerleader, I’m useless. Before, during the epically long forty-weeks it took for our son to decide his mommy’s belly was too small, I was on point.
Chicken and apple sausage with dinner? Done.
A Coca-Cola icee from the gas station twice a day to curb the nausea and headache? Got ‘em.
Chocolate covered pickles at two in the morning with pistachio ice cream? Weird, but she got that, too.
If I could, I’d take the pain and push the kid out myself but life doesn’t work that way. I’m reduced to moral support while my wife produces a miracle.
“Aaaaaggghhh!” Danika screams again. Tears run down her cheeks as she give it everything she’s got.
“Here he comes!” Dr. Mims yells. “One more, girl. You can do it.”
A lifetime that is probably only a minute later, our son is born. Dr. Mims holds him up for us to see. His tiny body is barely bigger than the length of her forearm, covered in blood and purple goo. He’s perfect.
Danika collapses back onto the hospital bed. I smooth her hair, wiping away her sweat and tears. Our son cries as the nurses do whatever it is nurses do. They talk amongst each other in not so hushed whispers. Eighteen and a half inches. Eight pounds, seven ounces.
I’ve barely had enough time to register that I have a son or that my beautiful, tired, wife has given birth before he’s pushed over to us in a clear box meant to be a hospital baby bed. Danika sits upright and the nurse places him in her arms. Swaddled in a blue polka dotted blanket with a knitted beanie, you almost can't tell he’s got a cone head. We were warned it might happen. Baby’s skulls are soft, the bones not fused together, so they can make it through
the birth canal. It still looks weird.
“Hey, little guy.” Danika brushes her finger tip against his cheek, openly adoring how beautiful he is. After a moment, she looks up as if she just remembered I’m in the room. “Here.”
She lifts her arms for me to take him. My heart beats against my chest. A bolt of fear sears through me. What if I drop him? What if I don’t hold him right? What if I end up being a shit parent and screw him up like my parents did me?
I shake my hand and Danika just smiles. She shifts, adjusting herself to lay him perfectly in my arms. I stare down at the little man. He has Molly’s nose, Danika’s thick lashes, and my chin. This kid, he’s going to be a heartbreaker.
“Hey, there.” My voice cracks. Happy tears threaten to spill onto my cheeks but I’m a man. We don’t cry. That’s bullshit. I cried like a baby the day Danika said I do in our small courthouse ceremony last year. It was everything she wanted, intimate with a three week long honeymoon where we traveled all of Europe. A few weeks after we got back we found out she was pregnant.
“Do you have a name?” The nurse asks. She has a clipboard in one hand and a Sharpie ready to scribe in the other.
I tear my eyes away from our little miracle just long enough to answer. “Hunter. Hunter James Harris.”
The End.
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Bailey here! I hope you’re enjoying my stories. If you’d like to know what’s happening first, join my mailing list or come hang out in my Facebook group. Talk to you again soon!
Contents
A note from the Author:
Blurb
Epilogue from Part 1 I Hate You, I Love You
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Epilogue
Let’s Keep In Touch!
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Beautifully Broken
I Hate You, I Love You Part 1
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Also By Bailey B
Broken Love Series
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Piper
I’m the school slut. It’s a title I wear, not proudly, but because it’s what’s expected of me. Everyone at St. A’s High School knows my bio-mom’s a whore—a real screw-you-for-money whore— that slept with the physics teacher last week.
Thank you, Facebook, for tagging me in that humiliating article.
Not.
Bio-mom was arrested for all of two seconds before making bail thanks to her pimp and the John she got caught with, he also happens to be my first period teacher this year. So, on top of the normal whispers spread about me on the daily, that mess is going around too.
It’s fine.
I’m used to my name being in everyone’s mouth. It’s been that way since the third grade. Back then, people talked about my dirty nails, how skinny I was, and how my best friend was a boy. In high school, the daily gossip changed to where I moved to, what alleged drugs I was on, and eventually who I had spread my legs for. When the rumor started that I gave a killer blowjob for fifty bucks, no one doubted it. Why would they? I’m the girl with a whore for a mom. The girl from the wrong side of the tracks.
Literally.
There’s the rich side of town where my classmates live, the good side, the tracks, and then that side. It’s like the shadowy place in the Lion King Simba was warned to stay away from. Yeah...bio-mom lives there.
Anyway, not long after that rumor about me started, I figured what the hell. They say when life gives you lemons, make lemonade. I was given stupid, horny boys. So, I made money.
For the record, I’ve never actually touched anybody. At first, I turned everyone who approached me down. But there were a select few I eventually said yes to. The most selfish, conceited, disrespectful guys in our school got special treatment.
Underneath the shadows of the stadium bleachers, they dropped their pants. Exposed their less-than-exciting-junk to me. And then I kicked them straight in the balls. Those jerks fell to their knees, cursing my name while I took all the cash from their wallets. It was the perfect hustle.
Anyway, all of this is why I’m being stared down by Tad Parker. Captain of the baseball team, running back on the football team, and total tool. Bloodshot eyes narrow on my face, expecting a different answer to the question asked this morning.
“It’s still a hard no, Tad.” I stop walking and cross my arms.
While I’d love to take the pretty boy for all he’s got, I’m trying to turn a new leaf and make the most of what’s left of my senior year. I don’t expect to fix my reputation, but I’m trying to change the way I see myself. Which means no more pretend illicit acts for money.
Tad rolls his bloodshot eyes and pulls a brown leather wallet that probably costs as much as a year’s tuition from his back pocket. He thumbs through his cash, offering more twenties than I’ve held in my entire life. “Come on, Piper. I’ll make it worth your while. Five hundred. Right now for five minutes in the bathroom.”
Tad’s a good looking guy, if you’re into that classic blond-haired, blue-eyed, prince charming wannabe look with the attitude of Gaston. He has no shortage of self-entitled princesses throwing themselves at him.
I shake my head and push his arm back. My checking account may be teetering on the edge of zero, but I’m not this desperate. “Why not hit up one of the JV cheerleaders. They’d jump at the chance to get tangled up with you. For free.”
“Because they aren’t Piper fucking Lovelace. Now come on.” Tad’s hand curls around my arm. He squeezes, pulling me towards the stadium bathrooms.
One Mississippi.
My airway constrict. Bats swarm in my stomach, threatening to bring up the vending machine cinnamon roll I had after fourth period. I absolutely detest being touched; it sets off a catalyst of reactions that steadily get worse. My one and only thought at this point is to make Tad let go.
I dig my heels into the ground and yank my arm back, but my efforts are useless. I try to pry his fingers off me, punch him, kick him in the leg. Nothing I do makes a difference. Tad’s too strong. Even with my best attempt at a struggle, he drags me clear across the parking lot almost effortlessly.
Two Mississippi.
My hands tremble, sending vibrations up my arms and throughout my body. I need help. I hate asking for help almost as much as I hate being touched, but I don’t have much choice. I look to my left and then my right, but there’s no one in sight. No one to hear my screams. I try anyway, opening my mouth to yell, but nothing comes out. This can’t be happening. I swallow the tiny bit of saliva in my bone dry throat and try again.
Nothing but air.
Beads of sweat drip down my neck as the feeling of imp
ending doom lingers. The memory of a crooked grin I’ll never forget flashes before my eyes, amping the intensity of my breakdown.
I spent a good part of this year in counseling to learn how to manage my panic attacks. Finding ways to keep everyone from noticing my freak outs, but Tad makes me feel like I’m trapped. Watching from the outside, I lose all control.
Three Mississippi.
Logically I know it’s been more than three seconds. It had to have been, but I’m stuck in a time warp. Everything happens at a snail slow pace yet lightning fast at the same time.
Tad pushes me against a wall near the entrance of the girl’s bathroom, just outside of the football stadium. He lets go of my arm and presses his hands on either side of me. I realize that this situation probably isn’t going to end well, but my anxiety begins to subside. As close as Tad is, he’s not touching me anymore.
I can think again.
Feel again.
Pain surges through my arm like a lightning bolt. It was probably there the whole time, but I didn’t notice. I’m going to have five little bruises from the pressure of his fingers but I don’t move to soothe the throbbing. I hold my ground, fists balled at my sides, and stare up at him.
